Kyroll and Martinez’s day flew by, which was surprising considering they never saw a single stag from their first hide or a half-dozen others they moved to and set up throughout the day.

There were some fleeting glimpses of other smaller creatures, but none they were after or that Kyroll was willing to shoot. That was a shame. One of the animals they spotted was called a Eurila; it was a fat-looking bird that reminded Martinez of a chicken, other than its bright blue and green plumage and the fact that it had four wings.

Kyroll insisted they were in their mating season and should not be shot for the time being. If there were any stags around, the rifle fire would send them running. Martinez had no frame of reference regarding the mating season part but could understand the later warning.

In the right conditions, rifles like theirs could be heard firing for dozens of kilometers, so it was better not to risk it.

By the time they returned to camp, they were under the light of half a dozen moons orbiting Renoral. The hike down from the hills was deathly silent. Neither spoke, neither had fully grappled with their strife.

Martinez still could not fully trust Kyroll. Too many things raised red flags over the trip: The duffle bag, his treatment of Lysa, and the forced, almost plastic way he acted. None of it added up.

Kyroll knew what he had to do, and with them only being out here for one more day, he had to decide what he was going to do. Could he trust Martinez to keep his mouth shut? Was the risk worth it? How would he explain this to Nelya and Lysa? Could he even return to them after ensuring Martinez’s knowledge dies with him?

As Martinez lit a fire, Kyroll secluded himself inside his tent, leaving the Human alone. While Kyroll dug inside the tent, likely changing his socks and underwear, Martinez poked and prodded at the fire.

He looked at the lake and wondered why those beautiful little insects had not returned. It was only then that Martinez remembered Kyroll had not retrieved that metallic orb. Was that thing some kind of insect repellent?

If it was, that was disappointing; having those cherubic orbs dancing on the glass-like lake would be a pleasant addition to the area and add a little life to the otherwise overbearing darkness just beyond the flickering firelight.

After Martinez had sat stationary long enough for the cold fingers of winter to crawl into his boots and claw away any warmth, Kyroll joined him at the fire. He groaned loudly, his knees cracking louder than the firewood as he lowered himself into his chair.

“Here,” Kyroll said, extending his hand across the fire, clutching a bottle of a clear liquid. “It's some homemade liquor.”

“You are offering me a drink?” Martinez raised a brow.

“Well, yeah, Vuric. It’s not like I stuttered,” Kyroll shook the bottle.

Martinez could not help but feel like he was being set up here. Kyroll had pulled that bottle out of the duffle bag that other Aviex had passed off to him, and Martinez had yet to get a good look at its contents. For all he knew, that bottle was filled with acid.

“Sure, but after you. It’s your bottle; you should get the first drink,” Martinez said, insinuating some abstract tradition.

With a slight narrowing of his two remaining stacked eyes, Kyroll glared suspiciously at Martinez. After analyzing Martinez, Kyroll shrugged, uncapped the bottle, and took a swig deep enough that it made Martinez’s spine shiver, imagining the burning liquid sliding down his throat. But Kyroll simply inhaled sharply before exhaling and reextending the offer.

“See no poison,” Kyroll coughed.

“I never said it was,” Martinez argued, grabbing the bottle.

“You didn’t have to. Your face said it all,” Kyroll shrugged. I’ve done that before, but I could not get away with it here—it would be too obvious, and Nelya would kill me.”

“Don’t forget about Lysa. She would peel your dick like a banana,” Martinez quipped.

“Banana?” Kyroll replied, tilting his head in confusion.

“It’s a fruit,” Martinez replied, gasping after sipping the burning liquid.

The liquor was nothing special, but it was nothing weak by any means. It was more potent than vodka and just as tasteless. God, how do people drink like this?

“Do you have anything to mix it with?” Martinez asked, passing the bottle back.

“Nope. What, are you too good to drink it straight?” Kyroll challenged before taking another sip, but this time, it was far less exaggerated. “Just enjoy that I’m sharing this with you at all. Normally I would have just kept it all to myself.”

“I never said that but just drinking straight booze is usually not my style, plus I have had some issues in the past,” Martinez admitted.

Raising an eyebrow, Kyroll keenly plucked apart what he knew about the Human and what he understood about warriors who fell to the drink. He was not confident about what Martinez meant by issues, but the insinuation was obvious.

Seeing Kyroll's mocking look, Martinez took another steadying drink. “Shut up, like you are perfect.”

Martinez could have used many words to describe the next half hour: unexpected, strange, perhaps out of the blue, but in all honesty, the most poignant descriptor was surreal.

Kyroll was not acting like the man that Martinez had come to know over the last three days. The old Aviex was actually pleasant company. Kyroll regaled Martinez with tales of when he was just a young lad and first joined the military—his time in boot camp, advanced infantry training, and all the way up until he joined Aviex special forces. At that point, the conversation quickly drifted for reasons Martinez understood—most people in that line of work are tight-lipped.

Martinez had to admit the Human and Aveix training experiences were comically similar: screaming drill instructors running endless upon endless drills and tests, weeks of never-ending marches, and non-stop corrections of the slightest error. Apparently, looks weren't the only thing that the two species had in common.

As they continued to drink and relax with one another, the moons rose higher into the sky. Martinez started to believe that Kyroll had finally broken down and relented, having finally admitted to himself that unless something soiled Martinez and Lysa’s relationship, the Human was here to stay.

"So tell me, what exactly do you feel about my daughter?" Kyroll questioned, steepling his fingers and leaning forward. "Considering the conviction you've shown, I'm a little curious.”

That question was a shift in the left field, which Martinez never expected. Kyroll giving Martinez the dad talk right after telling him about how some of his soldiers once got lost while out in liberty and ended up drunk and naked in another city was a bit of tonal whiplash.

Martinez, of course, had heard about fathers interrogating a potential suitor while cleaning a weapon. It was a staple in hollow flicks. Some of the Marines Martinez knew had done just that with their daughters.

But given Lysa and Kyroll's distance, Martinez assumed they would have forgone this almost cliche conversation.

Casting his gaze towards the serine lake Martinez pondered the idea for a moment, not because he was unsure of his answers but because he needed to gather the words and string them together in a way that would not piss off any father.

No father wants to hear: oh, your daughter has a nice ass, I want to eat chocolate off her abs, or how watching her break alien bones while in a fight turns him unreasonably on. Martinez might be dense, but he was nowhere near that stupid.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"I think Ruh'ah is one of the gentlest, most caring people I know. Yeah, her sense of humor can be cruel at times, but she never crossed any lines with anyone," Martinez started but paused to gauge Kyroll’s reaction.

For his credit, Kroll kept his cards close to his chest, not flinching or looking as though he was dissatisfied with the conversation piece. He was stalwart as Martinez expressed his feelings for Lysa.

Martinez sighed and scratched the back of his head slightly; this next portion was just a little bit awkward, even though Kyroll undoubtedly would understand. "She is amazing, if I was going to put it simply. She's helped me through some rough spots at work and some personal problems. She was right there with me through it all, pressing me on. And since we started staying over together more often, I have had way less nightmares, which is something I enjoy."

As Martinez spoke that time around, he was intently watching Kyroll to see if he could spot any indications of a reaction to him mentioning Lysa or their intimacy. Through the dancing shadows and Kyroll’s hands concealing most of his face, it was difficult to spot, but there was a twinge, a slight flicker, and an unmistakable change in his eyes.

Guilt replaced his usual stoney visage and lingered there for several seconds. Martinez continued to speak and compliment Lysa in every way he possibly could.

Kyroll's shoulders slumped and sagged further and further with each compliment Martinez gave Lysa, praising how wondrous and magnanimous she was. It was like each word weighed down on him, and crushed his soul.

After Martinez had finished, they sat there in silence, Kyroll watching the fire crackle and pop, flames dancing with sparks fluttering away, joining the cacophony of starlight above. In contrast, Martinez wondered if Kyroll was not a cold-blooded killer.

There were a few Marines Martinez knew who had not changed after the strife and tribulation the forges of combat had sent upon them. Perhaps Kyroll was the same.

"Hey, are you all right?" Martinez asks, picking up on Kyroll's look of woe and clearly pondering his family. “You seem different whenever I mention Lysa or Nelya. Is something on your mind?"

Kyroll bit his tongue, his spine straightened, and his muscles flexed, readying to fight like he was caught in an ambush in some dark alley on Heavalun.

Martinez's acknowledgment meant one of two things to the old veteran: that he was dangerously sharp for someone who was just some knuckle dragger and that Kyroll was getting sloppy.

Maybe the years away from work caused him to be out of practice and unable to keep himself composed. The booze might also have something to do with it, but he doubted it was that.

This Vuric, something about Martinez dug under his skin, stabbed into him like a knife, and fileted him open, leaving his emotions and thoughts to bear. It was like the Human could read his mind.

A sudden reflection, a thought, surged forth in Kyrolls mind: the whispers of someone he had not thought of in nearly a decade resurrected from the deepest point of his mind— the only other Human he had ever known.

Emil.

He recalled Emil's rants and raves about his desire to be better, an outstanding friend, ally, husband, and warrior all at once. Back when he was subjected to those talks, Kyroll thought it was nothing more than the rantings of a madman, someone who didn't know what they were genuinely asking for and had no semblance of reality.

Emil was ignorant and didn't see the darkness that awaited him while on the team. The stupid Human's optimism would be crushed after a deployment or two.

But he never did change—quite the opposite. Emil changed the team. His thoughts infected the team Kyroll had spent years cultivating, selecting, and preparing for the rigors of what was to be expected of anyone working for the Aviex government.

One by one, the team all resigned, having learned from Emil there was more to life than never-ending combat and snuffing the lives of those who had learned too much.

Even Kyroll fell for Emil's advice to support Nelya and the soon-to-be-born Lysa. Back then, he did it without question; all it took was telling Kyroll to be with his wife, to love life and what he had.

Why are Humans like this? What was going on? Kyroll couldn't put it into words or dredge up what was crawling through his mind and digging at the chipped, cold heart in his chest.

Fucking Humans, they just did something to him. They dig into him, crawl across his skin, and change him. No, they change everyone around them.

"I'm alright," Kyroll said, hoping to end this conversation and these strange effects. But just like Emil, Martinez was relentless.

"Bullshit, it's obvious something is bouncing around in your grape. Just say it," Martinez insisted.

They held each other's stares, neither willing to be the first to break contact. Each was stubborn and bull-headed. But as Kyroll looked at Martinez through the flickering fire, he didn't see his daughter's Ruh'ah; he saw Emil smiling and jokingly telling him to calm down and relax, assuring him that no one wanted to hurt him.

"Fine," Kyroll growled, disturbed by Martinez’s insistence and eerie similarities to a man he knows is long dead. It was funny, almost as if Emil was getting one final laugh out of his stubborn friend's strife, just through this other Human. "It annoys me that you and Lysa have what Nelly and I couldn't when we were young."

"Wait, hold the fuck up. You, Kyroll, great warrior, special forces commander, and spy, are jealous of your daughter?" Martinez said exaggeratedly, emphasizing the magnitude of titles Kyroll once held by gesturing high to heaven.

Kyroll grumbled and tried to think of what to respond with, but Martinez was right; he was jealous. He was almost vindictive that Martinez was there for his little Huntress in a way he never could be or could have been. Between work, trying to protect her and how shaded his past was, it was never an option. He never could have been forward with her, unlike this Human.

“Come on, brother, you should be happy for Lysa. She's healthy and has plenty of friends. We agree to go to a fertility clinic to get some groundwork for us moving forward together. How would you be jealous of any of that? That's perfectly healthy and normal?" Martinez questioned, leaning back and genuinely not understanding why Kyroll would ever feel that way.

Perhaps it was because Martinez had only ever known being in a relationship with Lysa, but still, this didn't seem like something one should be jealous of, especially of one's daughter.

Kyroll gripped his pants hard, trying to stay composed. At this point, he was treating Martinez as if it was just Emil on the other side of that fire, calling him on his bullshit and telling him why he was lying to himself and everyone around him to keep himself in his little Happy Box.

"Because she's my baby girl, my little Huntress," Kyroll hissed through his teeth.

Martinez responded just as Emil would have in the past. "That doesn't change anything. The fact that you still think of her as your daughter and she wants you to be her father will help you be better with Lysa. All you have to do is try with her."

Stars damned it, why are Humans so damned stubborn, and why did they always seem to have an answer for everything.

"You just don't get it!" Kyroll snapped, standing and pointing at Martinez vindictively, trying to shut out the Human's prodding.

The sudden outburst surprised Martinez, causing him to flinch and raise his hands. He expected Kyroll to jump over the flames and attempt to flog him; neither moved for several seconds, both gauging the other's reaction.

“I'm going to go take a piss," Kyroll said, turning around to escape this scenario.

Before Martinez could respond, Kyroll made it near his tent and paused, looking at the closed flap and then back at Martinez. He opened his mouth about to speak but shut it, shaking his head before vanishing into the overwhelming gloom, leaving Martinez alone.

That pause and hesitation distracted Martinez from the perceived propinquity he and his would-be father-in-law were building, thrusting him back to the reality that the older Aviex despises him.

Kyroll left Martinez alone, and his duffel bag was in that tent. It was time to settle things.

—-

"You mother fucker, get out of my head," Kyroll groaned, slamming his head against a tree hard enough that blood oozed from an open wound, getting deeper with each strike.

Emil and Martinez, why did they both have to make everything so complicated? Normally, this would be easy.

Get the target to trust you enough to get close, drug them up, then dump them somewhere or orchestrate some other method for their demise. It was no different than getting Recaf.

"But why does deciding to kill this one have to be difficult," the old Aviex muttered, leaning his head against the tree.

Kyroll thought back to all he had done, the people he had killed, the missions undertaken, and the names he had erased from history. They were all easy: a quick pull of a trigger, stepping off VTOL, or a few black lines on paper.

Kyroll couldn't see him doing that to Martinez. Even if he erased everything about the Human, Lysa and Nelly would know, and they would have to be dealt with.

No matter how he tried to justify or logic the issues away, Kyroll simply couldn't figure out how he could kill Martinez.

He could try to lie to himself that keeping the Aviex history under wraps is for the greater good of the universe. That didn't work, so what if someone else knew he knew, and Nelly knew, and neither of them were supposed to?

Martinez was trying to take away his dear little daughter. He was hardly a father to Lysa, but without Martinez, there was no chance he could ever be a father to her. Everything Martinez said was true; without Martinez's approval, Lysa disappeared.

Kyroll slumped into the snow, lying on his back, and looked up at the starry night sky, sighing. "Dammit, Emil, even from the grave, you're still right."

Kyroll lay there until he eventually surrendered to the reality that he had to be better for the sake of Nelly and Lysa. He thought back to one of the last things Emil tried to teach him: You can't fight and kill everything. Too many things need acceptance, care, and nurturing in love.

"Fine, Emil, you goddamn win," Kyroll grumbled.

He would ensure Lysa, Nelya, and Martinez were happy and safe. Slinking back to his feet, he started stepping back towards camp, wanting to start again and truly make this strange life work.

He would start out with Martinez by returning to camp and extending a true gamut of peace. Kyroll just had to make sure Martinez could never see what was in that duffle bag.